could never convince me, for I tell you beforehand, I do not
wish to be convinced; I have gone so far I cannot recede; I
have suffered so much, death itself would be a boon. I no
longer love to madness, Raoul, I am being engulfed by a
whirlpool of jealousy.”
Raoul struck his hands together with an expression
resembling anger. “Well?” said he.
“Well or ill matters little. This is what I claim from you,
my friend, my almost brother. During the last three days
Madame has been living in a perfect intoxication of gayety.
On the first day, I dared not look at her; I hated her for
not being as unhappy as myself. The next day I could not
bear her out of my sight; and she, Raoul — at least I
thought I remarked it — she looked at me, if not with pity,
at least with gentleness. But between her looks and mine, a
shadow intervened; another’s smile invited hers. Beside her
horse another’s always gallops, which is not mine; in her
ear another’s caressing voice, not mine, unceasingly
vibrates. Raoul, for three days past my brain has been on
fire; flame, not blood, courses through my veins. That
shadow must be driven away, that smile must be quenched;
that voice must be silenced.”
“You wish Monsieur’s death,” exclaimed Raoul.
“No, no, I am not jealous of the husband; I am jealous of
the lover.”
“Of the lover?” said Raoul.
“Have you not observed it, you who were formerly so
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keen-sighted?”
“Are you jealous of the Duke of Buckingham?”
“To the very death.”
“Again jealous?”
“This time the affair will be easy to arrange between us; I
have taken the initiative, and have sent him a letter.”
“It was you, then, who wrote to him?”
“How do you know that?”
“I know it, because he told me so. Look at this;” and he
handed De Guiche the letter he had received nearly at the
same moment as his own. De Guiche read it eagerly, and said,
“He is a brave man, and more than that, a gallant man.”
“Most certainly the duke is a gallant man; I need not ask if
you wrote to him in a similar style.”
“He will show you my letter when you call on him on my
behalf.”
“But that is almost out of the question.”
“What is?”
“That I shall call on him for that purpose.”
“Why so?”
“The duke consults me as you do.”
“I suppose you will give me the preference! Listen to me,
Raoul, I wish you to tell his Grace — it is a very simple
matter — that to-day, to-morrow, the following day, or any
other day he may choose. I will meet him at Vincennes.”
“Reflect, De Guiche.”
“I thought I told you I have reflected.”
“The duke is a stranger here; he is on a mission which
renders his person inviolable…. Vincennes is close to the
Bastile.”
“The consequences concern me.”
“But the motive for this meeting? What motive do you wish me
to assign?”
“Be perfectly easy on that score, he will not ask any. The
duke must be as sick of me as I am of him. I implore you,
therefore, seek the duke, and if it is necessary to entreat
him to accept my offer, I will do so.”
“That is useless. The duke has already informed me that he
wishes to speak to me. The duke is now playing cards with
the king. Let us both go there. I will draw him aside in the
gallery: you will remain aloof. Two words will be
sufficient.”
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“That is well arranged. I will take De Wardes to keep me in
countenance.”
“Why not Manicamp? De Wardes can join us at any time; we can
leave him here.”
“Yes, that is true.”
“He knows nothing?”
“Positively nothing. You continue still on an unfriendly
footing, then?”
“Has he not told you anything?”
“Nothing.”
“I do not like the man, and, as I never liked him, the
result is, that I am on no worse terms with him to-day than